The Day the Vermin Won
by pwmarlfox
Summary: What if? What if vermin and goodbeasts weren't necessarily good or bad according to animal?
1. Prologue

**The Day the Vermin Won**

_By Joseph Dunlap_

**"Heigh ho,** ye vermin know  
Aye, ye scum o' the earth,  
I'd dance a jig as soon as die  
Same as I would at me birth.

So dance ye a jig  
Down a flagon or two  
Tell me my son is that what ye'd do  
If'n jiggin' were all ye was worth?"

The wind stirred lightly that evening, brushing lightly the fields of grass as a mother soothes and strokes a crying young one. An aged figure walked the cobbled path, singing softly to himself and the lonely moonlit hills around him. Behind him followed closely his young companion. He knew not the old one's name, as he chose to speak only when the time showed itself appropriate. The old one did not care for names and merely called his companion My Son, when it was necessary to address him with a recognitory name.

The Old One was a Wanderer, as I have described, and the Young One had for a time been traveling alongside, learning the ways of the Old One. This was the way things were between them, and neither saw any need to question the way things were, neither the Young One with his quiet upbringing nor the Old One with his own past and childhood. It mattered not where either traveler was from, only where they were and where they were going.

As the shadows lengthened the Old One drew his cloak tightly about himself and turned to the Young One. "We shall rest," he said. When a small camp had been set up the Old One lay back on his small pack while the Young One found himself looking into the whisping flames of the glowing fire set up between the companions. Small blades of yellow, red, and blue flowed gracefully as if swayed by the wind. The Young One noticed a single ant's journey over one of the two logs. It carried a crumb of bread that had been dropped by the Young One earlier that night. It continued obliviously on, to the Young One's surprise. Finally the flames came too close and it was engulfed with a sharp popping sound. The Young One blinked.

Then the Old One spoke.


	2. An Arrangement Made

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The Day the Vermin Won

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By Joseph Dunlap

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Chapter 1

In a land far, far away there was a shoreside mountain called Salamandastron, in which of the extinct mountain of fire there lived a gathering of hares under the leadership of what was called a Badger Lord. The Badger Lord was the greatest of all the fighters in the land, maybe even the world itself at that time. Under his command was the most organized fighting unit within leagues, the Salamandastron hare guard, or simply the "Long Patrol".

At a particular time, during the reign of a Badger Lord called Dirion, there was a horde of vermin making its way from the South in search of riches. Its leader was called Rilmarr Kin, Warlord of the South Kin Horde. He was a stoat but had many beasts, stoats, weasels, ferrets, foxes, martens, and rats of all kinds at his command.

As the course of things go, the South Kin came across the fiery mountain during their travels. A scout reported to Rilmarr Kin his findings from far off, describing the appearance of the mountain and the manner of beasts who dwelled there. "Hares?" Kin commented to himself. "This is strange indeed. What manner of business is held in a place like this is far from my eyes." He tapped a crooked tooth with his claw thoughtfully.

Orders were given and the front flanks of the Kin marched out with Rilmarr to confront these mountain dwellers. As they reached view of the mountain they halted and waited. Then Rilmarr came forward and called out, "Hail! Hail, Mountain of the Sands!"

After a moment's pause an answer came back from the mountain. "Who be ye an' what do ye want, vermin?" called the voice of a hare.

"We are the South Kin," he answered. "What we want depends on what you have, friend."

There was another pause, then the hare called back. "This is Salamandastron the fiery mountain of th' western shores. Our leader is Lord Dirion th' Great Badger. If ye come in peace you and your companions are welcome to walk on our shores and shall be treated as friends. Otherwise... ye'll not 'ave things go so well for ye, wot." There was a blatency in the hare's words that impressed not those of boasting.

"I would speak with your leader," Rilmarr said at last.

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"M'lord," Colonel Frivard turned from the window. "Th' vermin wishes t'speak with you."

Lord Dirion stood a stately figure, wearing a great green tunic over his broad chest and holding the ceremonial mace of the fiery mountain, the size of a full-grown male hare, in one paw. He spoke with a great, booming voice.

"I shall speak with him," he said. He stood in full view in the window and addressed the stoat. "State your business, friend."

From his position it took him a matter of seconds before Rilmarr Kin could see the Badger Lord standing in a great opening high on the mountain. He caught his breath but checked any signs of bewilderment. "We are but travelers a long way from home, my lord," he called up. "We come in peace."

"Then what is it you wish here?" Dirion asked.

"I wish simply to parley, my lord," Rilmarr answered.

"Very well then," Dirion said. "It shall be done."

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An arrangement was made between the two sides. The South Kin were in need of supplies to continue on its way, and in return they had a supple stock of weaponry that would be useful in the Long Patrol. Lord Dirion of Salamandastron and Lord Rilmarr Kin of the South Kin Horde shook paws unflinchingly and sealed the arrangement, and each went his own way. Whether things would go as planned, neither knew, but an uneasiness settled that night with the darkness which was felt by all.


	3. Uncertainties

(Author's note: Normally, Salamandastron would not be in need of new weaponry nor trust vermin, but this story takes place in a time of great decline in Mossflower.)

**The Day the Vermin Won**

_By Joseph Dunlap_

**Chapter 2**

**Lord Dirion left his chambers and went down the ancient steps to the officer's mess.** He was followed by Colonel Frivard, his commander-in-chief for many seasons.

"M'lord, d'ye think 'tis wise to trust th' word of vermin? I'd as soon give 'em blood an' vinegar than blink an eye at a type as those."

"My word is final, Colonel. You should not question that which you do not understand."

"Yes, m'lord."

When they got to the officer's mess they found Captain Birm, Lieutenant Walliff, and Sergeant Litagent reclining and laughing amongst each other. The Badger Lord's appearance was a startling suprise and they immediately jumped to their feet in salute. Dirion did not appear to notice their laxness which he would have otherwise had a lecture for, but asked instead, "Where is Major Thim?"

"Last I knew he was taking a visit t'the cellars, wot," blurted the young Lieutenant Walliff.

Once again he was appearedly ignored as Lord Dirion was quickly on his way to retrieve the missing officer. Moments later the two returned, Thim howling as Dirion had a firm hold on one ear. He was sat down to the laughter of the other officers, which quickly subsided at a glance from the Badger Lord, and the officer meeting came to order.

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Rilmarr Kin too was uncertain about the dealings afoot. His head captain, a weasel called Kitch, openly shared his own opinion, which was never in want.

"Might'ness," he said, entering the Warlord's tent, "What is goin' on? Tradin' with- them? They can't be trusted, not by th' likes of us."

"Then what would you suggest I do, my captain?" Rilmarr asked as he looked up at the weasel.

Kitch paused a moment, not knowing what to answer. "Er- I dunno, Might'ness, 'tis not my job t'make decisions. But whate'er we do, I don't wanna turn my back on them 'ares. 'Tis just not a natural dealing we're in."

"We have no alternative. We need the supplies, and enemies or not, this is the only way. Just stick to the plan."

"Aye, Might'ness," Kitch said, and left.


	4. Treachery

**The Day the Vermin Won**

_By Joseph Dunlap_

**Chapter 3**

**Dawn spread over the shores as a herald that morning.** Both Dirion and Rilmarr were up to greet its coming to the warming sands.

In ceremony both sides of the barter stood before each other, the Long Patrol on one side and the South Kin on the other. Their leaders stood in the middle in greeting, shaking paws. "The weapons you desire are behind me," Kin said. "We should like to be on our way by noontide."

"It is as you say," said Dirion. "We shall bring the supplies if we are pleased with the trade." Spears, sabers, arrows, armor, and other weaponry were presented to the Badger Lord for inspection, aided by Colonel Frivard and Major Thim.

"Very good," Dirion said in approval. "Very well, we shall supply you and your horde amply for your long journey, friend." He nodded to his officers, who led the march back to the mountain as the supplies were brought.

Suddenly, a loud cry echoed through the rocks and an arrow zipped through the air. It hit Lord Dirion in the side, and he fell to his knees with a roar. He looked up at Rilmarr Kin, his eyes burning.

"Treachery," he growled. "Treacheryyy!!!" Rilmarr stared back coldly, saying nothing.

Colonel Frivard heard his lord and turned the Patrol around. "Treachery, mates, give 'em blood'n'vinegar! Eulaliaaaaaaaa!"

"My lance, where is my lance?" Lord Dirion roared, rising to his feet. He tore the arrow from his flesh and threw it down. Frivard stood by his side, bringing the badger's weapon of choice, a huge lance that stood half a head taller than even Dirion. Rilmarr turned in haste, calling to his own army.

"It's an attack! Fight for your lord!" A battleaxe was thrown to the stoat Warlord as he rejoined his horde. "Chaaaaaaaaarge!"


	5. Treachery Retold

**The Day the Vermin Won**

_By Joseph Dunlap_

**Chapter 4**

Lieutenant Walliff was a superb marksbeast. As ordered by Lord Dirion, he had silently stowed himself inside a hidden crevice somewhere on the mountain. He flexed his bow and chose an arrow. The trade was commencing far below: he could see it all clearly. The vermin weapons were inspected first; Walliff felt the pang of regret felt by many over the long seasons since the mountain's mighty forge had fallen into disrepair.

Then, as the negotiations seemed to be coming to an end and the officers headed for the mountain, Walliff pulled up his bow and sighted it on his target.

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Captain Kitch was also stationed at the farthest end of the rocks of Salamandastron, Rilmarr's defense should anything go wrong in the negotiations. The weasel's keen eyes studied any likely location for a sniper: flotsam on the beach, nearby rocks, and the many crevices in the mountain itself. As his eyes drifted over the mountain one last time, he sighted a small movement. It was the tip of an arrow, and it looked to be aimed straight into the middle of the beach. Treachery!

Then the figure moved forward and Kitch could get a clear view of him: it was a hare, alright. He aimed quickly and fired.

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The Long Patrol hare moved forward a matter of inches so he could get a better shot from behind the rocks. At the same moment he released his arrow, a well-aimed shaft came out of nowhere and buried itself in his chest. He didn't even have time to issue a cry of pain before he fell from his spot to the sand below, stone dead.

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Kitch's shot had been true: unfortunately, the hare had managed to get a shot off. He looked out just in time to see the two sides amassing against each other, shouting out cries of treachery.

Kitch rested his bow on the rock in front of him; he had failed to protect his lord.


End file.
